Iris an' Gramps

Sorry it's taking me so long 2 get this post up. I was having 'puter trubs. Bleah. Hey, Zeremy, thanx 4 buying me thoze cube clothes @ Hot Topic!

Dunc, sorry, I didn't mean 2 ignore U an' yr dream post. What happed was that yr post went up when I was answering Mike an' I didn't even realize it was there till I was catching up on the nite posts this morning and U sed sumthing abt it in a l8r post. So then I went back and looked. Don't feel bad, I have weird dreamz abt U sumtymez 2. I can't say more, or Ger mite get upset.

NEway, Iris called us this morning and Mom put her on speaker fone.

Iris: Good morning, all!

Mom: Morning, Iris. Hi, Dad!

Iris: He's waving.

Me: Good morning!

Dad: Where's my train catalog?

Mom: Say "Hello" to Iris and my Dad, John!

Dad: Oh, hello, how's your new "lifestyle"?

Mom: Please shut up about that, John, don't make me throw frozen peas @ yr head!

Dad: Sorry. (Ducks away)

Iris: Please pass on our hellos to Michael, Deanna, and the little ones!

Mike: Oh, hi there, Iris! I 4got who U were 4 a second!

Iris: Hello, Michael!

Dee: Oh, hello, Iris, I guess I wasn't "listening" there for a moment. Pre-occupied with the kids. They are v. clingy l8ly, what w/the trauma they've been thru watching their home burn up and their father run back in 2 save his manuscript and laptop.

Iris: Yes, about that. . . .

Mike: U don't have 2 tell me what a hero I was, saving that novel 4 the good of Canada.

Iris: Oh, good, so I won't.

Merrie: Gweat-gwampa Jim? Step-gweat-gwamma Iwis?

Iris: Hi, sweetie! Yr great gramps is waving @ U. And how is yr little brother?

Merrie: He's waving, 2. He doesn't know U can't C him.

Iris: Awwww! NEway, the reason I'm calling is that Jim and I wanted 2 share how happy we R 2 have made it thru yet another yr 2gether! We just think it's AMAZING!

Mom: Yes, amazing!

Liz: Oh, hi, what's going on here? I heard the word "amazing." Usually when I hear that, ppl R talking abt me.

Mom: It's yr gramps and Iris. Iris was just saying how amazing it is that they've made it thru another yr 2gether.

Liz: I guess. But it's not like they've d8ed a helicopter pilot. I'm hungry. I need a hearty breakfast so I won't get depressed.

Mom: Well, U know where everything is, go @ it.

Liz: OK, Mommy.

Iris: So, I helped Jim up out of bed this morning, helped him on w/his robe, and got him 2 his walker. Then we went over 2 his favourite chair. Moving him away from the walker, I wrapped my arms arund him he wrapped his around me, and I sed, "Let me help U 2 sit down, Jim. Just the way they taut us." I was helping him in2 his chair, and I sed, "This is like dancing, isn't it." And that wasn't a question, young Pattersons, it was a st8ment! Then I went on, "The 2 of us moving 2gether as one... Do U know that 2nite is New Year's Eve? ...We've made it thru another yr, U and I." Jim smiled and moved his hands in a way that xxpressed "dancing." I sed, "Alrite..." I helped him out of his chair, wrapped my armz around him, and sed, "...Let's dance."

Mom (choking up): That's so touching!

Iris: Isn't it, tho? So, Jim and I have plans 2nite 4 New Year's Eve. We R going 2 a luvly party that's hosted by April's friend, that nice Jones boy!

Mike: Nice! That boy is not nice! He's a deliquent!

Mom: Michael Patterson, don't U say that! He's been reformed via April's Patterson influence, like yr effect on Gordon and Liz's effect on Candace!

Liz: Candace? Did Candace call?

Mom: No, Liz, I was using her name in an xxample. Put yr face back in yr breakfast if U can't follow along!

Liz: Hmph!

Iris: Well, as nice as this is, I have 2 go now. I, um, need 2 help Jim. Er, 2 help him scratch his back. Yes, of course, that's it! Well, goodbye, all!

Mom: Goodbye!

Me: Bye!

Dee: Bye, now!

Mike: Ta-ta, for now!

Liz: What?

Merrie: Bye-bye! Robin's waving!

Dad: Trains!

Telephone: Click! (Dial tone)

NEway, that's how this morning went. So, for NYE, sum of us R still planning on getting 2gether 4 a low-key nite @ Dunc's house (while Dunc is away). It's gonna B me, Vicki, Gordie, Eva, and MayB Becky and Howard. They weren't sure last time I spoke w/them. Def not Ger, tho, since neither Mom nor Dad will B there 2 chaperon an' Dunc is away. Zeremy and his future sis will B @ the odefoax NYE party, since Zeremy is DJ-ing.

Apes

Mike guesses what Dee wants 2 hear?

Blogger is being imposs this morning. I totally can't get myself logged in, so I'm gonna use my e-mail-to-blogger thingy. I'll hafta fix the formatting l8r. And add labels. Sorry abt the commercial 4 yahoo that's gonna B @ the bottom. NEway, Mike had sum more 2 say in a post last nite:

April,

Little sis. I believe this will be the last part of my story involving the fire, so your readers can finally rest easy after having heard all the details. I had returned home after my very emotional visit with Josef Weeder and Carleen Stein, and I found my wife Deanna staring wistfully out the window of our room, which used to be your room. I remember reading once that one of the questions women really like to hear is "What are you thinking about?" You can't go wrong with this question, because just asking it shows you are a sensitive and caring husband willing to listen to whatever your wife wants to say, no matter how silly it is. The occasion seemed to call for it, since Deanna was staring wistfully after all. Deanna responded, "How it all was before the fire." That seemed like a dangerous answer to me, because as a husband, you don't know what "it" is. If she is talking about perfume or makeup or sanitary napkins, then you are venturing into an area of conversation most men avoid at all possible costs. If she is talking about how your relationship was before the fire, then she is most likely going to lead into saying something about how "it" was better before, because women rarely ever say the relationship was worse than it is currently. I thought to myself, "I better not say anything and hope she is not talking about relationships or other really girly things."

That worked out very well, because Deanna started to elaborate on what "it" was. She told me, "I can see the clothes in the closets, where everything was in the kitchen, the kids' room, the hall carpet, the pictures on the walls…" I got a little nervous then. I looked outside the window, and I couldn't see those things. I thought it might be one of those games where you see images in the clouds, but the clouds I saw looked like a rubber duck, a laptop computer and Josef Weeder's nostril hair. Then I thought she might be speaking metaphorically, like the things she could see stood for something else which was similar to what she saw, i.e. her lost childhood, or her alienation from her parents, or her never-changing hairstyle. Then I remembered, "This is Deanna. She is not that deep. She's talking about actual things." But then I was nervous again, because she was talking about things I could barely remember. I thought to myself, "I hope she doesn't quiz me to see if I remember those things too. I could tell her all about what was up in the attic, and all about our bedroom, which is where I spent most of my time; but I was iffy on those other places." Once again, I kept silent for my own safety and it worked again.

Then Deanna said, "It's like it never happened. We'll wake up in the morning and go home." Once more I panicked, because I didn't know what "it" was. The first time "it" was something which could be before and after the fire. This time "it" was something that happened, which could be reversed and return us to our homes, like the fire, or our marriage, or something worse. I had to take action quickly to cover all the bases. My mind was racing like a top, and miraculously the solution came to me. I said, "We'll have a place of our own again, Deanna. But, for now, as long as we're together….we're home." It was a cliché, but it seemed to work. I put my arm around Deanna and held her close and for once she didn't push me away and make some joke about how I wasn't getting any. We had a nice quiet moment. I breathed a sigh of relief. I had once again survived a conversation with my wife.

Love,

Michael Patterson

Mike--the first time she sed "it," Dee was talking abt yr apt. When she sed "It's like it never happened," "it" was the fire. Duh.

Apes
__________________________________________________

Everything's Fine and Dee Recaps for Mira

OMG, Zeremy, that was such a crayzee nite, eh? Thanx 4 getting all thoze tix so Merrie an' Robin an' I cd all go C Disney on Ice w/U and yr future sis. I can't believe Ger actually got a Baloo the Bear suit and sneaked himself in so he cd sk8 and also sing his embarrassing "Gettin' sum from April Flower" song. I'm glad he recovered so quick from being zapped w/that security guard's stun gun. He sez he's just glad he didn't get stungunned in the gut, where his bro is alwayz punching him. That wda been a prob! Oh, and thanx 4 bribing that guy, Mom's spy, w/an autograffed book fr. yr dad, Country Jones, so he wdn't blab. Lucky 4 me the guy was such a big fan!

Dessert @ the CN Tower was such a great idea, 2! It was nice 2 have sum alone time w/Ger, and he was so glad 2 B w/me, he even let off on pressuring me the way he has l8ly. When I'd asked him Y he'd pulled his crazy Baloo stunt, he sed he'd just gone crayzee from "April Flower Withdrawal." Awwwww.

MCDunC, it soundz like U R having a s00per-cube vacation! I haven't even had a chance 2 use the housekey U gave me, but I def will. And gotcha--no big NYE partee @ the Anderson house.

So, this morning, I went in 2 my room 2 get sum stuff fr. my dresser. MY dresser, the one I paid 4 all by myself, with my OWN money, from Ikea. And U'll remember that Mike an' Dee R using my room, but if not, U'd know from the convo I'm abt 2 report, that Dee was having on the fone with her Mom. Cuz, like, U haven't heard enuf abt ppl in my fam recapping what happed the nite of the fire.

NEway, Dee was sitting on MY bed, with Merrie and Robin totally clinging 2 her (she wasn't kidding when she told me the poor kidz R xxtra clingly l8ly). I heard her saying, "We're fine, Mom. We R staying with John and Elly. No, we don't know 4 how long. We're in April's room, April has moved 2 the rec room and our kidz R in the sewing room, next 2 Elizabeth. We're fine!" Then she stood up, holding Robin. And I felt a storm cloud rising over my head as she sed, "Yes, we've had sum fun [fun?] reorganizing & it's a little crowded, but don't worry, everything's fine." Then I left the room, but l8r she told me that as she hung up the fone, she was thinking, "Everything's fine. Everything's fine." And then she sat on my bed with the kids 2 read them a snowman story, and continued thinking: "For my children's sake..... Everything's fine."

When she told me this, she hugged me and thanked me again 4 taking Robin an' Merrie off of her handz 4 a while last nite. She sez she really, really needed that. Esp. since Mike is spending xxtra time @ the office, since he doesn't have an attic 2 hide in here. Nice, Mike.

Apes

Things that happen in the papers

So, like, Mike wrote sum more abt his visit an' convo w/Weed and Carleen in Toronto:

April,

Little sis. I am sure your readers have been on pins and needles waiting for the next installment of my story about visiting with Josef Weeder and Carleen Stein to tell them what happened during the fire at my apartment. When I last was telling this story, Josef and I were talking in the coffee bistro, and Josef gave me words of encouragement which caused me to start weeping profusely. I am not a man who displays emotion easily, or apparently quietly either. We were eventually asked to leave because I was disturbing the other customers. I made a mental note not to sign autographs of my book in that coffee house. It was so poorly named Donut & Coffee anyway. I should have no truck with an establishment who can’t spell “doughnut” properly.

As we were walking out of the coffee shop, Carleen positioned herself in between me and Josef, so we were forced to talk over her and she also served a barrier to any more touching by Josef. I suspect she thought Josef touching me on the shoulder was the source of my emotional outburst in the coffee bar. Josef, was still able to touch me with his concern for my well-being. He asked, “So, what are you gonna do?” I know what he was really asking. Josef and I have lived with or close to each other for 11 years. This fire would mean the ending of all that. However, I knew my mother would never let us stay anyplace other than with her, including any temporary living arrangements which might be provided by our insurance company. So, I had to tell him the truth. I said, “For now, we’re going to stay with my parents. We don’t have a lot of choice!” Knowing Josef, he would catch my hidden meaning on “not having a lot of choice”.

Then Carleen looked directly at Josef, and he had a very nervous look on his face. I knew something was up. Josef said, “Carleen and I will bunk in at the studio, and the Saltzmans are staying with friends until our apartments are cleaned. Heaven only knows how long that will take!” I looked at my old friend Josef as he said these words and I got the message loud and clear. He and Carleen were not going to try to find a place near my mother. They were staying in Toronto in his studio and then were going back to the apartments. It was the end of an era in my life, and it was all thanks to the situation created by those smoking Kelpfroths, of which Carleen was clearly taking advantage. I looked at Josef’s face closely to see any signs he was going to change his mind, but there were none forthcoming. I looked at him to remember the details of his appearance, (pulled-back hair, muppet nose, oddly-shaped cranium), on this night, our final night together as he stood in front of the Sushi & Taco Bar across the street. This was my last time in Toronto with Josef, and it hit me like a ton of bricks.

I said, “Man….I feel sorta….sick!” Then out of nowhere, Carleen spoke. Well, actually she was directly to my right, but she hadn’t spoken in so long, I had almost forgotten she could speak. As is usual with Carleen, she tried to give words of comfort, but she simply had no idea what was going on. She said, “You’re in shock, Mike. Your whole family is. Losing your home is a major trauma. It’s going to take a long time to recover.” How would Carleen know how my family is doing? Carleen hadn’t seen my family. And the signs of shock are usually a sudden drop in blood pressure, cold and clammy skin, a weak or rapid pulse, irregular breathing and things like that. Carleen was touching my arm, like she could tell shock from feeling my coat. My sickness felt more like I had a queasy stomach, like maybe I was reacting to seeing Josef in combination with the Sushi and Taco sign behind him.

But then I thought about it. Maybe it was shock. Shock at having an apartment fire almost destroy my novel. Shock at having my best friend living apart from me due to the fire. Shock knowing I would probably never get Ned Tanner back with Weed living so far away. I thought to myself, “This is the kind of thing that you read in the paper…but it’s always happening to someone else.” And I looked up in the sky, almost like the Lizardbreath does when she is trying to be especially earnest. I could actually feel myself looking like Liz and my lips started to get fluffier. I was freaking out until I realized I don’t read the paper, except for my column in the Clarion Weekly. Then I felt much better.

That’s it for today, little sis. More details of my story tomorrow. I know your readers can’t wait for my next installment.

Love,
Michael Patterson

Mike, I don't think Carleen was trying to use "shock" as a medical diagnosis. People use "in shock" all the time for when something traumatic leaves U kinda stunned. But I agree she really wdn't know if that applies 2 the fam, eh?

Zeremy, the crayzee thing is that Mom's chaperon rule only applies 2 Ger. So, like, I cd hang w/U w/out an adult. BUT. She's got all of Mboro watching 4 Ger 2 suddenly, accidentally show up @ places where I happen 2 B. She sez, "April, it's not that I don't trust U, tho mayB I shdn't. But I sure as heck do not trust that BOY!" So I dunno what.

Apes

Recapping 4 Weed

Mike posted abt going out 4 coffee w/Weed an' Carleen after he checked his apt. house the other day:

April,

Little sis. Here is the next installment of my day back in Toronto to visit my apartment. After our landlady Lovey Saltzman, waxed on about how it was not alright for Melville Kelpfroth to try to kill us all using so many Yiddish phrases I lost count; I suggested to Weed we might go get a cup of coffee so I could tell him my story about the fire, and maybe we could leave the women behind. But, alas, Josef felt sorry for Carleen having to listen to Lovey continue on about the evils of cigar-smoking goyim, and he invited her to come along with us. As we left, Lovey was still ranting on, and she may still be there, for all I know.

At the coffee house, Weed and I sat in our customary positions—looking each other in the eye, as Carleen sat in her customary position---off to the side somewhere. I started off with “Man, it happened so fast. My family was sleeping” and then it occurred to me I had used the word “Man” to start my speech, which was unusual for me, as if I suddenly forgot I was 30 years old and no longer in university. That little pause in thinking also helped to realize that perhaps I didn’t want to tell Weed how Deanna took the time to put boots, hats, and coats on the children and I called the emergency services before we tried to leave the apartment. And maybe I didn’t want to tell Weed that I didn’t actually get my wife and children outside, but instead left things up to Deanna as I went up to the attic. The firefighters and doctors at the hospital all told me those were stupid things to do, and I didn’t want Weed to think I was stupid, and only good for my looks. So I said to Weed, “and then suddenly, we were all outside!”

At first Weed stared at me blankly. I wondered if he understood what I said, or if he was confused by my implication that magic was involved in getting my family from sleeping to all the way outside. But then Weed said, “We didn’t know what was going on until the fire trucks arrived!” I breathed a sigh of relief hearing that, because it meant Weed didn’t question what Deanna and I were doing in the apartment before we got outside. It meant Weed was miffed that he found out about the fire from the fire trucks and not from me. I know if I were Weed, and he had a fire in his apartment, and I had to find out from someone else about his fire, it would hurt my feelings too. I cried a little inside knowing I had hurt his feelings. I had to make him feel better about me, so I told him, “Those guys came just minutes after I called!” That way it would seem like I had planned to call him too, but the fire fighters were just too fast for my phone-dialing fingers.

I could see Weed was relieved about my explanation, so I decided to tell him the exciting part of the story, about how “I went up to the attic…by the time I came down, I could hardly breathe…and I couldn’t see.” I could see the worry etching itself across Josef’s face. I could not stand it any longer. I had to let him know I was alright. I said, “Two guys pulled me out…I was never so glad to see someone in my life!” Then I realized I had said, “two guys” instead of “two firefighters”. Weed was going to think I have other men in my life, who come to rescue me, who aren’t firefighters and most importantly, who aren’t him. Weed yelled out “WHAT?!!”. I knew I had blundered.

Weed said, “You went up to the attic when the place was full of smoke?” I was so relieved; Josef was just concerned for my safety. I knew he understood me, better than my wife did, since she called me crazy. So I told Josef the truth, “I had to get my laptop, Weed—and my book.”

Then Josef reached out to me and held my arm from across the table. I can’t tell you how it felt to have someone near to me, who knows I am a Patterson and how I am wired, and who, in my hour of need, gave me the precious pun of pity. Josef said, “Well, for your sake, Mike…I hope it sells like a house on fire!” Those words were so beautiful, it brought me to tears. I am not a crying man, little sis, but it means so much to me to know that no matter how bad things get, there is someone out there who will tell me a pun, when I need a pun the most. I hope for you, little sis, that someday you will find a man for you, who will touch you as much as Josef Weeder has touched me.

Love,
Michael Patterson

Mike, I think what Weed 4got 2 say was, "So you risked your life, risked widowing Dee, and leaving your children fatherless, all so you can save a laptop and a manuscript you'd mostly backed up anyway?" But I guess Weed isn't so much for the "tuff luv," eh?

Apes

Mike went back 2 his bldg 2 C the damage an' he wrote abt it in a post last nite:

At 2:30 AM, michael patterson said…

April,

Little sis. The following day after my apartment was burned and I lost almost everything except my laptop, reality set in. It wasn’t mom putting sheets on the day bed in her sewing room for my daughter or assembling a borrowed crib for my son. It wasn’t you taking residence in the cluttered rec room, while we took your bedroom and found your collection of Teen Beat magazines. The thing that really did it was watching mom chart our bathroom routines according to everyone's schedules. I suddenly realized that I am sharing a shower with 3 adult females, and I would probably find things in the bathroom I wouldn’t find back in our old apartment bathroom with its gigantic interiours.

Since Deanna works in the same building with dad, they are commuting in together, leaving me the car to drive the hour and a half commute to my work. Mom gave dad a strict lecture about not forgetting and leaving Deanna at work, if he decided he was going to take time off to do whatever dad does when he is not at work. Connie next door agreed to take our children for the mornings and Mom would take them for the afternoons. I know you were probably thinking that since I work in Toronto, I could have taken the children to their regular daycare with Ardith Narayan, in order to keep from disrupting their normal schedule, instead of handing them off to Connie, a woman they barely know. But mom convinced me that since we are likely to be in her house for a long time, it would be better to establish a new way of doing things, which would be more convenient for our new state of being.

As planned, I decided to go to my old place after work to see what remains. There I met Josef Weeder and his girlfriend, Carleen Stein, and our landlady Lovey Saltzman. We stood outside and as the white luminescent circles we call snow were falling about us, we looked at the burnt building. As we stood there quietly, it occurred to me that none of us were wearing hats, even with it snowing outside. Before I could launch into a lecture on health consciousness, Weed put his arm around Carleen and said, “They saved the outside of the place, Mike, but the water an’ smoke damage is wicked.” Carleen hissed at Weed, “How many times do I have to tell you, don’t use an’. Only teenagers and low class people say an’.” Then Weed stepped back from Carleen so I was closer to her now and he said, “Our side of the building is OK, but everything stinks!” I wasn’t sure if he was talking about the smell or his relationship with Carleen.

Lovey said, “Feh! I should have evicted those people! Who needs this?! Who needs this?!!!” I must admit at this point, I was taken aback, and not only by Lovey’s repetition of “Who needs this?!” with extra exclamation points. You see, Lovey had told us all along that she should couldn’t evict the Kelpfroths because they knew their rights, but now she was saying she should have evicted them. I started to get mad at Lovey, which I know I shouldn’t do because she is a beloved older, ethnic, mother figure for me, and thus beyond reproach. I had to refocus my anger. So I said to Weed, “And…the Kelpfroths?” Weed said, “Still in the hospital in serious condition.” Then I was taken aback again. My oldest and dearest friend, Josef Weeder had betrayed me. He had stabbed me in the back by inquiring and finding out about the condition of the Kelpfroths. We had gone the entire time dealing with my losses in the fire due to the Kelpfroths without anyone actually asking about them. Our record would still be perfect if it hadn’t been for Josef. I said to him, “Vile betrayer.” He said, “You asked. Don’t ask the question, if you don’t want to hear the answer.” Lovey Saltzman gave us the declaration of “Hmph!” which is usually her way of saying she is going to go for the punch line. She pointed to the broken downstairs window with broken glass and ice on the window sill and said, “From smoking, he can kill himself slowly…it’s HIS business…but that schlemiel tried to kill us ALL!!” I was very tempted at that moment to launch in the dangerous effects of second-hand smoke to which my family had been exposed for the last 1 ½ years, but then I remembered the rule about beloved older, ethnic, mother figures and I held my tongue. Not literally of course because that would be painful.

You know I had plans to go inside, if I could, and go up into the attic, while counting my steps to safety. However, I am not sure if I will be writing about that tomorrow. We’ll have to see what kind of mood I am in.

Love,
Michael Patterson

Mike, yeah, that stuff abt Lovey and not evicting the K's soundz way suspicious. Also, she soundz pretty insensitive considering they're in serious condition @ the hospital.

Zeremy, thanx 4 posting that stuff abt the party "Lapril" went 2. It was cube of U not 2 blow my cover, but now I can admit that I actually did sneak out an' go 2 that party as Lapril. I'm still upset abt the whole "wide butt" thing. I'm totally upping my kickboxing workouts! It's hard 2 believe peeps don't recognize me when I wear my hair down an' put on nice clothes. And I'm glad my hair curse gave me the nite off.

Apes

Merry Christmas

Hey, so every1's in the house, and we're all saying this fire stuff happed on Xmas eve, even tho Mike's been telling abt it way, way longer. Time is weird in Mboro, eh?

I cdn't help hearing the convo Mom and Dee had in the wee hrs as they and Dad settled Robin and Merrie in2 the sofa bed. I guess the stuff Mike told us abt in yesterday's blog entry happed in that same diff continuity where Liz was transported 2 Paul during the Labour Day weekend.

So, the convo I heard. Dee was all, "The fire started in the apartment downstairz. Mr. Kelpfroth was smoking in bed.... He'd turned off the smoke alarm so the landlady wdn't find out. By the time our alarms went off, the fire was out of control. I took the kids down the fire escape. Michael ran up to the attic to get his book. The firemen got him just in time. He had 2 B checked 4 smoke inhalation... I picked him up @ the hospital... And we all came here." Mom went, "So every1's safe and sound." And Dee was like, "Yes!" Mom hugged her an' sed, "Merry Xmas!" while Dad, I think, put a hand on one of Dee's hands. Or forearms. Not sure which.

NEway, Zeremy, sorry I wasn't able 2 make it 2 that party. I tried 2 sneak out last nite, but Mom was all, "Hey! This is a time 4 family 2getherness! Get yr Patterson butt back in here!"

Well, Merry Xmas 2 all of ya that celebr8 it!

Apes

Sundays are different

Mike did one of his l8-nite posts:

At 3:23 AM, michael patterson said…

April,

Little sis. Sundays for our family are a marvelous time. Everything seems more colourful. A lot of the time during the week, our life seems to go by so quickly there is barely enough time to set up a decent pun. But on Sundays there seems to be so much time to enjoy life, you wonder if it wouldn’t be better off to be just a little shorter or to have more things to do to fill the time. Certainly that is true this Sunday.

I know today is Christmas Eve, and Christmas Eve night is the night when Santa will come, but for some reason, I had this feeling that the whole story of what happened to our family with our apartment burning happened on Christmas Eve night. In fact, that feeling is so strong, I think when I write my monthly letter for January, that’s the way I will tell it, that the fire happened on Christmas Eve night, maybe even with an Ebenezer Scrooge reference. It’s always good to throw in a reference to classic literature, particularly if it comes from an English author. That would make the story so much more poignant. I wonder if I can get everyone to go along with that this coming week as we deal with the aftermath of the fire. It would mean everyone would have to ignore my family’s history of traveling to Milborough and spending the night at mom’s for every Christmas since Christmas 2003, but I think our family is up to it. What do you think?

In any case, my daughter decided to get into the spirit of setting other days as Christmas Eve and she decided that the night before Christmas Eve was the night Santa Claus was going to come. Apparently she woke in the middle of the night, from where she was sleeping on the day bed in mom’s sewing room, beside the crib mom borrowed for Robin to sleep in. She might have gotten confused about what night it was, or she may simply have been creeped out by that extraordinarily repulsive, substitute doll, mom found for her to sleep with. Even Ned Tanner looks good compared to that ugly thing.

When I found my daughter on the floor, she was wearing a nice, polka-dotted red night gown, we got from the collection for kids’ clothes Deanna got from her co-workers. It was nicer than what my daughter normally wears to bed, so I have no reason to complain. As near as I can tell from the evidence, my daughter must have gone out of the sewing room, stealthily crept to and down the stairs and sequestered herself in a hiding place where she could view the Christmas tree and the chimney. Apparently my daughter was trying to catch Saint Nick in the act. I spoke to her as I was carrying her upstairs, and she said, “Daddy. It was sooo boring. I waited a long time. I looked away from the tree, but in secret looking at tree, in case Santa showed up. Then I fell asleep.”

The reason I was up in the middle of the night, was I woke up to check on the children, because I am a good father. Oh, alright. I was really up in the middle of the night to sneak some chocolate fudge before mom could eat it all. That’s when I found my daughter asleep on the floor. I picked her up to take her back to bed. As I was carrying her she said, “Daddy. I had a dream I took Robin to the Christmas tree and there were all these presents there – a tricycle, a live monkey, a wind-up Frosty the Snowman, a wrapped bottle of happy juice for Auntie Liz, and a lot of other presents wrapped up and all over the floor. I could tell it was a dream, Daddy. Because the presents were every one wrapped in different wrapping paper, like someone used a new roll of paper for every present. Then I said to Robin, ‘They’re right, Robin. …Santa comes when you’re sleeping’.” I said to her, “Maybe you can do that on Christmas Day and pretend you were sleeping on the floor tonight on Christmas Eve night.” My daughter said, “Maybe. Why are Sundays so different, daddy?” I said, “I will tell you what my father told me in this very same house, when I asked him the very same question---Six weeks dailies, eight weeks Sundays.” My daughter nodded her head sleepily, no doubt dreaming of a happier time when people planned 8 weeks in advance, so things didn’t seem so different on Sundays.

Love,
Michael Patterson

I know what he meanz abt Sundayz being diff. It's like U can have zits all week, have clear skin on Sunday, go back to having the zits on Monday, and then finally still have zits the following Sunday. So weird at times.

More Mike, More Smoke

Mike posted another comment abt the whole fire an' rescue thing:

At 2:49 AM, michael patterson said…

April,

Little sis. Now for more of my story of our excitement for our family after I was interrupted in telling it yesterday.

To recap: It was 2 am. I had just finished my book and I felt like celebrating. Not that I know anything of the physical pain of giving birth, but I was comparing this feat to something equally agonizing - and, now it was done. Yes finishing my book was like having to be in labour for hour after hour until I pushed that baby out of my loins, ripping and tearing the tender flesh of my…I think it was more like passing a kidney stone.

I sauntered down the stairs into the living room and my eyes began to burn. There is nothing like that time of night to make you realize your poor decorating choices. But in addition to my eyes, there was in my nose, the smell of melting plastic and a blue haze of smoke was beginning to curl into the apartment. Except it wasn’t blue of course. It was more like a light grey colour, and it didn’t so much curl as kind of glide through like someone had placed long ribbons across the room. The smoke was very odd. I kept on thinking I could get a pair of scissors and cut through them, but of course that was not truly the case, no matter how many times I tried.

The alarm on the hall ceiling went off, a high-pitched whine that pumped the adrenaline like a syringe. And then of course we also had the smoke alarm, which used a more conventional battery and electrically-powered method. I don’t know why we ever invested in those adrenaline-powered things. They are just awful and so tedious to maintain.

I woke Deanna and told her to get up. Fast. We dressed the kids, herded them into our room and onto the fire escape. And of course, by we dressing the kids, I mean Deanna got them dressed. I hate having to deal with those little hands and feet. They are too small for my delicate fingers. And of course, by herded, I mean picked up and carried. I don’t know the first thing about proper herding techniques, except it involves some kind of trained dog.

Our fire escape. Until now, it had been our balcony and a convenient route to the back yard. I remember those days of sitting back there with Deanna on lawn chairs and viewing the bustling city of Toronto. How exciting it was to view the city lights there on our fire escape. But now, it was a welcome exit from an apartment rapidly filling with smoke.

That is the scene where I left your readers 2 days ago. And now to continue:

With Dee and the kids outside and the emergency fire crew alerted, I impulsively ran back into the apartment…well actually I had never left the apartment physically, but mentally I was outside the apartment with Dee and the kids. I think that should count. And by impulsively, I mean I had been thinking about doing it all along. But I had only been thinking about it in the brief time after the smoke alarm went off, so for a Patterson that is impulsively.

Anyway, I ran up the stairs to my office and grabbed two other things I had to save: my laptop and my manuscript. I know you are thinking I probably should have only picked up the laptop and left the manuscript, but I had printed the manuscript on really nice paper and I had used the “Best Quality” setting on the printer and everything, so it would have been a shame to let it burn.

It took seconds to get both, but by the time I reached the bottom of the stairs, the acrid smoke burned my lungs. I couldn't see. Trying not to breathe, not to panic, I moved towards the hall. In our hall closet I selected a cloth to put over my mouth to help me with the smoke. I wanted a nice, pretty, flowery cloth; my favourite, to use; but all we had in the closet were those ugly white ones we got from Deanna’s mother for my birthday. I struggled with deciding whether or not I should go into the dirty laundry to try to find my favourite, flowery one, but then I decided I would go for the plain, drab, white one and hope that no one saw me with it. That would be embarrassing. I'm strong, but not strong enough to be seen with the wrong cloth in public. Well, as they say, smoke can kill you, and once I got into the smoke, I realized I should have gone for my nicer, flowery, cloth; because the smoke went right through the cheap white cloth and I could feel myself falling forward.

From the door of our bedroom, two masked firefighters appeared, and by masked, I mean they had oxygen masks on, not that they were masked like bandits. One of them yelled to someone behind him, “We’ve got him! He’s OK!!!” Of course he was wearing his oxygen mask when he said it, so I marveled at his enunciation. I suppose in firefighter school they teach how to properly articulate words so they can be understood when they have oxygen masks on. That’s really quite a skill. I might have to write an article on it some day. The other firefighter stuck his hand out with what appeared to me to be some kind of yellow lobster claw. It was however, an oxygen mask of some sort.

I was given a breath of oxygen and another as they carried me like a doll to the exit, closing our bedroom door behind them. Well, I say carried me like a doll but it was more like one firefighter grabbed me around the waist and hoisted me off the ground while the other firefighter stuck the lobster claw oxygen mask on my face. When I think about it, dolls are usually carried around the neck with their legs and feet dangling, and it wasn’t like that at all. Perhaps I should say they carried me more like someone giving me the Heimlich maneuver while the other person tried to catch what was coming out of my mouth with the oxygen mask. Whatever happened to the good old-fashioned fireman’s carry? There is nothing like being hoisted onto the broad shoulders of a strong man. I remember Josef Weeder and I used to practise fireman’s carries on each other all the time in university. It was quite invigorating.

Despite their bizarre method of carrying me, they continued to carry me down the two flights of stairs leading from our second floor apartment to the back yard. As they did so, I could hear my wife Deanna expressing the tender sounds of concern for my condition as she said, “I left a blanket and our photo albums on the fire escape.” The firefighter responded, “OK! Just get out of the way, please!” I could tell from the firefighter’s tone, this was not the first time Deanna asked about the blanket and photo albums. I could also tell he was single. A married firefighter would have obeyed the commanding wifely voice of my Deanna instantly and retrieved the items to keep her from continuing to ask about them over and over again. That’s what I would have done myself, if I had not been busy being carried by firefighters at the time.

Two pumper trucks were in the lane. At least that’s what I was told. I only saw one myself. Lights from a police car and a rescue vehicle were like fireworks as my eyes adjusted to the scene outside. Of course, now that I think about it, fireworks are usually sparkly and don’t produce that much light. Perhaps I should say the lights were more like miniature suns. No. That’s too strong a term. How about, the lights were blinding me to the one thing I wanted to see more than anything. That should work.

I was safe, but seeing Deanna and the children in the care of the fire crew brought me to tears. As the firefighter who had been giving me the Heimlich let go, so my feet could touch the ground again, I heard him say, “Medic! Get this one to the hospital!” I turned to him and said, “Don’t you mean ‘paramedic’ and shouldn’t he examine me first, before deciding I need to go to the hospital?” The firefighter said, “Hey! If you’re so smart, why did you go back into a burning building?” I started to tell him it was to preserve the manuscript of what would become the great Canadian novel, but I could tell his thinking was too pedestrian, or should I say, “firefightian” to understand the importance of great literature. So, I did not argue the point any further. Instead, as Deanna rushed to embrace me, I told her she was the most important thing in my life, by handing my laptop to her and saying, “Deanna, take my laptop!” Truer words of trust and dedication to another human being have never been spoken before and may never again be said. Entrusted into my wife’s arms was Canada’s literary future, and I knew she would follow through and make sure it was preserved.

As I walked to the rescue vehicle, I could tell my children realized the importance of what I had done for our country. My daughter said, “Mommy! Look! The fire! It’s burning everything! What are we going to have left?” Clutching my laptop in her right arm and gathering my children in her left arm, or was it the laptop in the left arm and the children in her right? It is so difficult to see things when you are being loaded into an emergency vehicle. Anyway, Deanna had them all together so that, in effect, all my children were gathered into her arms. I could hear my wife answering, “Each other.” as I was being loaded into the emergency vehicle. I could feel their concern for my health and well-being, even though they were busy watching the apartment burn instead of standing close by me.

Yes, what we had left was my son, my daughter, my wife, and my book. With those 4 things I can conquer anything. I can tell you little sis, in moments of crisis you realize what is truly important: Your family and great literature.

Little sis, just to let you know, there is a very good chance I will get called to make some speeches about my heroic rescue from our burning apartment, so I may or may not be writing to you about my excitement tomorrow. However, I expect to begin the story again the following day. I know your readers are anxious to hear about what injuries I sustained, so they can keep up with modern Canadian literary history, and I will try not to disappoint them.

Love,
Michael Patterson

As 4 2morrow'z entry, I have a feeling it's gonna have a Christmas theme 2 it! BTW, sorry 2day's post is so much l8r than the usual. I slept l8!

Apes

The Fire Story, Continued

It's weird, I've been waiting and waiting each day to find out what happs next in Mike's story as he writes in. But now sumhow I know all the deets! NEway, here's what Mike wrote last nite:

April,

Little sis. I was ready to give you another installment of the story of my family’s excitement. I had written down describing how our fire escape had been our balcony and a convenient route to the back yard, but now it was a welcome exit from an apartment rapidly filling with smoke. I had written how I had bravely gotten Dee and the kids outside and heroically alerted the emergency fire crew, before heading magnificently back into the apartment, up the stairs to my office to get my laptop and my manuscript.

But my wife, Deanna, saw me writing this stuff down and declared the next installment of the story of my family’s excitement was hers to write, since it was all about her. She says it is time for her to reassess my priorities if I wanted to be a proper husband and father. So I must defer to her for the sake of my marriage. I will give you the short story though, just in case she forgets to write.

Deanna got the kids down the stairs, but she had left Merrie's favourite blanket and two photograph albums on the fire escape. She'd dropped them so she could carry Robin and push Merrie down the stairs by the hood of her jacket. Then she told the firemen to go up and rescue me, and played ignorant about whether or not the Kelpfroths were downstairs where the flames were. Deanna is such a good wife.

That’s the short version. Deanna might add more details if she chooses to write. I will definitely be writing your installment for tomorrow though. Definitely.

Love,
Michael Patterson

Zeremy told me that his mom knows one of the firefighters who were @ the scene of Mike's apt fire, and that when Dee told the guy that Mike had gone in2 the attic 2 get his book, this firefighter sed his thot was, "Sum things just Rn't worth dying 4!" True thing there, eh?

Apes

Saving Sheileccch

Here's the l8est post from Mike:

April,

Little sis. As I promised you, this is the third installment of my family’s night of excitement. When I left off yesterday I had just finished my manuscript for my novel, I had praised my muse, and I had smelled smoke, and my wife Deanna helped the children put on their boots and coats, while I called emergency. Carrying on from there:

The smoke alarm was still going off and making a lovely “BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”
sound. You get the idea. There were 54 E’s just in this installment, compared to 68 yesterday. I am not sure, but I think the smoke alarm sound was only audible in our bedroom which could account for the lessened number of E’s. When we were in the children’s bedroom, I could clearly hear Deanna say to our daughter, “We’re going into our room.” And then our daughter said, “Why?” and Deanna responded with that classic motherly rejoinder “Just do as I say!” Then after that I heard the smoke alarm again. So, I thought the smoke alarm had a limited sound projection, or that my wife’s and my daughter’s voices are so loud and shrill, they can easily drown out a smoke alarm. In any case, the effect was less E’s.

Deanna was carrying the duvet from our daughter’s bed and our daughter was carrying her stuffed animal, while I carried my son into our bedroom. It was there I saw my wife Deanna suddenly drop the duvet and pick up 2 large books. Seeing this caused me to think, “If those books are more important to Deanna than having a duvet to cover our children and keep them warm outside, then is there something in the apartment more important to me than helping Deanna get the children all the way down the fire escape and to confirmed safety?” Maybe Weed and Carleen and Ned Tanner, or Lovey and Morrie? "No", I thought. They are in the other apartment building, and not the same one I live in. Then, the answer came to me as swift as a bolt of lightning (which by the way is not the reason why there was smoke in our apartment)--- Sheilagh Shaugnessy and her story. Yes, I suddenly remembered my manuscript, which I had just completed only a few minutes before all this happened.

So, I said to Deanna, “Get the kids out. I’ll be right back!” And Deanna said, “Michael---Where are you going?” And I said, “To get my manuscript! It’s in the attic!” Then Deanna said, “WHAT?!!! The place is filling up with smoke! Are you CRAZY?!!”

I had to pause a moment to contemplate that question. First I had to ask myself if I had done any backups of my manuscript. Of course I had. I had printed it out. So, even if the computer crashed, I still had a paper copy. Alas, both copies would be destroyed in an apartment fire. I could ask one of those computer smart people at Portrait Magazine where I work, if there is a way to make a copy someplace other than your home, but it was too late to think about doing that now. I would probably burn to death trying to figure out how to make a copy someplace else by myself.

With that possibility removed, the next question was whether or not I should go to the attic to get my manuscript. Looking at the wisps of smoke, they didn’t look very threatening, but Deanna did say that the place was filling up with smoke, so there was the possibility that with her keener vision, she could see smoke that I could not see. That told me it would be risky, but would it be worth risking my life to try to save Sheilaugh, in the event my wife’s eyesight was truly better than mine?

What happened then blew me away. It was as if I'd entered the conscious mind of someone else. A woman, whose life story has captivated me totally, as if it were my own. Sheilagh is just a young woman from England. She had to make a terrible decision too, which cost her dearly. She chose to leave her life in Devon, England to live with a brutal man and in brutal conditions in Bodner Saskatchewan. I felt the weight of her decision. I heard her voice, incredulous, vulnerable and lonely; looking for the one man in her life who wouldn’t disappoint her, who wouldn’t let her or her children down. She was looking for the man who had spent the last sixteen months chronicling her life; so that the whole world (or the people who read best-selling books anyway) could see a strong woman, capable of taking care of her children, and capable of handling everything that life had thrown at her, and capable of leaving her abusive husband to die from exposure in the snow. How could I let such a woman die in a blazing fire, if there was anything I could do to prevent it? Michael Patterson is not a man, so consumed by self-interest; he could ignore the pleas of Sheilagh Shaugnessy and her children.

Of course, about then, my daughter was whining about something and it broke my concentration. But it didn’t break my conviction. I said to Deanna, “I’ll go crazy if I don’t get it!!!” And get it I tried.

Now, I know your readers are probably sitting on the edge of their chairs in suspense. Did I get my manuscript? Did I burn to death? Will there be a happy and heart-warming Christmas moment at the end of my story of our excitement that evening? I will give your readers just a little hint to keep them going until my next installment: I am a Patterson.

Love,
Michael Patterson

OK, those of U who bet that Mike wd save the manuscript B4 his kids don't win, but the peeps who were betting he'd risk his life 2 save the MS can collect, I guess. But not real gambling, Paul, pls don't call the OPP in on my friends!

Apes

Saving Sheileccch

Here's the l8est post from Mike:

April,

Little sis. As I promised you, this is the third installment of my family’s night of excitement. When I left off yesterday I had just finished my manuscript for my novel, I had praised my muse, and I had smelled smoke, and my wife Deanna helped the children put on their boots and coats, while I called emergency. Carrying on from there:

The smoke alarm was still going off and making a lovely “BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”
sound. You get the idea. There were 54 E’s just in this installment, compared to 68 yesterday. I am not sure, but I think the smoke alarm sound was only audible in our bedroom which could account for the lessened number of E’s. When we were in the children’s bedroom, I could clearly hear Deanna say to our daughter, “We’re going into our room.” And then our daughter said, “Why?” and Deanna responded with that classic motherly rejoinder “Just do as I say!” Then after that I heard the smoke alarm again. So, I thought the smoke alarm had a limited sound projection, or that my wife’s and my daughter’s voices are so loud and shrill, they can easily drown out a smoke alarm. In any case, the effect was less E’s.

Deanna was carrying the duvet from our daughter’s bed and our daughter was carrying her stuffed animal, while I carried my son into our bedroom. It was there I saw my wife Deanna suddenly drop the duvet and pick up 2 large books. Seeing this caused me to think, “If those books are more important to Deanna than having a duvet to cover our children and keep them warm outside, then is there something in the apartment more important to me than helping Deanna get the children all the way down the fire escape and to confirmed safety?” Maybe Weed and Carleen and Ned Tanner, or Lovey and Morrie? "No", I thought. They are in the other apartment building, and not the same one I live in. Then, the answer came to me as swift as a bolt of lightning (which by the way is not the reason why there was smoke in our apartment)--- Sheilagh Shaugnessy and her story. Yes, I suddenly remembered my manuscript, which I had just completed only a few minutes before all this happened.

So, I said to Deanna, “Get the kids out. I’ll be right back!” And Deanna said, “Michael---Where are you going?” And I said, “To get my manuscript! It’s in the attic!” Then Deanna said, “WHAT?!!! The place is filling up with smoke! Are you CRAZY?!!”

I had to pause a moment to contemplate that question. First I had to ask myself if I had done any backups of my manuscript. Of course I had. I had printed it out. So, even if the computer crashed, I still had a paper copy. Alas, both copies would be destroyed in an apartment fire. I could ask one of those computer smart people at Portrait Magazine where I work, if there is a way to make a copy someplace other than your home, but it was too late to think about doing that now. I would probably burn to death trying to figure out how to make a copy someplace else by myself.

With that possibility removed, the next question was whether or not I should go to the attic to get my manuscript. Looking at the wisps of smoke, they didn’t look very threatening, but Deanna did say that the place was filling up with smoke, so there was the possibility that with her keener vision, she could see smoke that I could not see. That told me it would be risky, but would it be worth risking my life to try to save Sheilaugh, in the event my wife’s eyesight was truly better than mine?

What happened then blew me away. It was as if I'd entered the conscious mind of someone else. A woman, whose life story has captivated me totally, as if it were my own. Sheilagh is just a young woman from England. She had to make a terrible decision too, which cost her dearly. She chose to leave her life in Devon, England to live with a brutal man and in brutal conditions in Bodner Saskatchewan. I felt the weight of her decision. I heard her voice, incredulous, vulnerable and lonely; looking for the one man in her life who wouldn’t disappoint her, who wouldn’t let her or her children down. She was looking for the man who had spent the last sixteen months chronicling her life; so that the whole world (or the people who read best-selling books anyway) could see a strong woman, capable of taking care of her children, and capable of handling everything that life had thrown at her, and capable of leaving her abusive husband to die from exposure in the snow. How could I let such a woman die in a blazing fire, if there was anything I could do to prevent it? Michael Patterson is not a man, so consumed by self-interest; he could ignore the pleas of Sheilagh Shaugnessy and her children.

Of course, about then, my daughter was whining about something and it broke my concentration. But it didn’t break my conviction. I said to Deanna, “I’ll go crazy if I don’t get it!!!” And get it I tried.

Now, I know your readers are probably sitting on the edge of their chairs in suspense. Did I get my manuscript? Did I burn to death? Will there be a happy and heart-warming Christmas moment at the end of my story of our excitement that evening? I will give your readers just a little hint to keep them going until my next installment: I am a Patterson.

Love,
Michael Patterson

OK, those of U who bet that Mike wd save the manuscript B4 his kids don't win, but the peeps who were betting he'd risk his life 2 save the MS can collect, I guess. But not real gambling, Paul, pls don't call the OPP in on my friends!

Apes

Not Santa

So, Mike wrote again last nite, w/the next bit of his story, picking up after he noticed the smell of smoke in his apt:

At 3:02 AM, Michael Patterson said…

April,

As I promised you, this is the next installment of our night of excitement. When I left off yesterday I had just finished my manuscript for my novel, I had praised my muse, and I had smelled smoke.

Then the smoke alarm went off and made a lovely “BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE” sound. You get the idea. There were 68 E’s just in this installment, and trust me when I say there will be more E’s in my installment tomorrow. I counted them as a matter of habit due to the instincts of my journalistic training. The smoke alarm sound caused me to reminisce about the last time I heard the smoke alarm go off in the apartment. It was back in 2002 and Josef Weeder was frying / burning an egg. Then as Josef was pulling the apart the smoke alarm to get the sound to stop, Lovey Salzman appeared at the door to ask if there was a fire. Then it occurred to me, there was something different from that time when I heard the “BEEEEEEEEEEE” of the smoke alarm in 2002, aside from having fewer E’s, and this modern-day occurrence. Lovey Salzman had not arrived at our door, asking if there was a fire, when actually it was Josef’s cooking. I thought to myself, “If Lovey is not here, then this must not be a cooking fire. Plus this smoke doesn’t smell like the Kelpfroths’ cigar smoke or incense or gaseous excretions, smoky smells we have dealt with since they moved in. It must be a real fire.” My first thought after that was, “Get mommy!” But then I realized I wasn’t living with mom, not yet anyway, so I ran for the nearest mommy, and that was my wife Deanna.

Little sis, as you may recollect, my wife Deanna is a heavy sleeper, since she slept through the Tinkle Tonkle noises of our ceiling fan over the summer. I said to her, “Deanna! Wake up! Something’s wrong! The smoke alarm’s going off!” But this did not wake her up. So I grabbed her right arm with my right hand to brace me, and I gave the hair near her bangs a vigourous tug with my left hand. This woke her up and she said, “What?”

Then time was of the essence. I yelled at Deanna to go “Get the kids! I’ll call emergency!” But Deanna grabbed her forehead instead, I think because I had yanked out a little of her hair near her forehead when I was trying to wake her. So I yelled “HURRY!!” at her with 2 exclamation points to get her going. When I was talking about that moment later on, the authorities explained to me that calling emergency while I was there in my bedroom of a burning apartment building was probably not the best way to do things, and I should have left the bedroom before making that call. I completely agree with that advice now. I should have gone into the kitchen, where we keep our phone books, so I could look up the emergency numbers. Just to let you know April, the number is 9-1-1, in case you ever get caught in an apartment that’s on fire.

Well, Deanna was ever the smart mother. She got the kids’ coats and put hers on first, so she would not have to deal with that while she was helping the kids on with their coats and boots. I was so proud of her intelligent way of dealing with an emergency. I heard her say, “Robin, Merrie—Let’s get your coats and boots on! We’re going outside—Right NOW!” It was definitely the voice of authority and the kids took note of it.

Our daughter is old enough and responsible enough to put on her own coat, as you know from when I told you how she traipsed around after me in her coat and pyjamas the night we found Ned in the plumbing. But our son needed help with his. He kept on saying to Deanna, “No mommy. Boots on outside. No burn Robin.” He was so cute.

And speaking of cuteness, our daughter thought we were going outside to see Santa, because she said, “Is Santa here?!!” Now, I know what you’re thinking, little sis. Why does our daughter think that going outside in the middle of the night with a smoke alarm sounding off is the way to meet Santa Claus, when she is 4 years old and has experienced Christmas before? Well, sadly, the answer is that our daughter has never actually spent Christmas in her own home. We always travel to Milborough and have Christmas there. The whole tradition of Santa coming and delivering presents to her own house while she is sleeping is a completely foreign concept to her. I say, “always travel to Milborough”, but that is not completely the truth. My daughter’s very first Christmas Eve in 2002 we spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Morning at Deanna’s parents’ house and had Christmas dinner in Milborough. But there was so much complaining about that situation, we and Deanna’s parents have traveled to Milborough every Christmas since then, just to keep the peace with mom. Mom is happy about the arrangement, but it means our daughter doesn’t have the first idea how Santa Claus works. Mom always says that is best to protect your daughters from getting involved in the more commercial side of Christmas, so you can concentrate on the true meaning of the season. I said, “The birth of baby Jesus?” And mom says, “No, Michael. The food.” When she’s right, she’s right. That’s our mom.

That’s it for this installment, little sis. I wouldn’t want to spoil you with too much information for your readers. More tomorrow.

Love,
Michael Patterson

Hey, Mike, I've known abt "911" since I was around 4 yo. Also, when we learned abt fire safety in school, they told us U get every1 out FAST, take yr coats an' stuff w/U, call 911 when U get out, an' THEN get the coats an' boots on when U R out of danger. But I'm glad yr safe, even tho U guyz don't really seem 2 know what U R doing.

Apes

Success smells like smoke to Mike?

Well, here we go with more Mike. He posted this bit last nite in a comment:

April,

Little sis. Are you going to stop reading my posts because of this ridiculous rule you have set for the people who participate in your Blog? Very well then. I can fight back. I was going to tell you the whole story of the excitement at my home, but I think instead I will give it to you in installments. So there. Nyah. Nyah.

Now I think about it, that’s probably not a punishment for you, since you like telling stories in installments. By the way, don’t think of asking Deanna for her version of the whole story, because she heard how you were supporting Becky McGuire’s awful story about her birth, and so now you are on her naughty list. Mom is on Team Deanna, since she finds the idea her grandchildren are somehow related to Becky McGuire, quite abhorrent. So, don't bother asking her either.

Despite your unfortunate choice to believe Becky, I will tell you what happened--the first part anyway. After making sure Deanna got my daughter calmed down from the excitement of Christmas, I went up to my attic office to finish my book, and Deanna followed me up. She started rubbing her hands on my shoulders and said, “Come to bed, Michael.” Normally, this would be enough motivation to get me to bed, but for some reason my darling Deanna’s left arm seemed to bear a little resemblance to the left arm of a certain spinach-swilling sailor man, and frankly my left shoulder was in too much pain to consider Deanna anything but a source of agony. So, I said, “I’m so close to finishing this book, Dee….Give me another hour.” Deanna agreed, and when I saw her go, I saw she was in one of her more masculine appearance days, and I had some regrets about turning her down.

But the deed was done, and there was nothing for it, but the “TICK-TAPPITA TICK-TAPP TAPPITA TAP-TICK-TAPP-TICK-TAP, TAP-TICK” of the typewriter. You know someday, I am going to have to write a book on the proper punctuation for onomatopoeia.

But that day will have to wait, because I was filled with joy and elation that “It’s done! I can’t believe it’s done! This is my first real manuscript.” I spent a lot of time shuffling and reshuffling those gorgeous pages of ink and paper, while “THUMP THUMP” ing it on the table. You know, little sis, there is almost nothing better than shuffling and “THUMP THUMP” ing manuscripts on the table, and people do complain less about it, if it is your own manuscript you are “THUMP THUMP” ing.

Having completed this momentous task, over which I had laboured and sweated over for years, I descended the stairs, and lifted my hand to shake the hand of my fair muse, Sheilagh Shaugnessy, who appeared to me there. I said in a loud voice, since I was on the stairs and surely no one could hear me, “It is done, fair muse! Oh, that I should inhale the sweet smell of success!” For some reason, I was expected the smell of cinnamon buns, but when I reached the landing of the stairs from the attic, the smell of success I smelled didn’t have anything to with cinnamon or buns. Actually, I smelled smoke, 2 distinct strands of smoke to be exact, clearly moving through the air.

This is where my installment ends today. I will write more to you tomorrow, and you will have to judge for yourself whether or not you want to read it.

Love,
Michael Patterson

Mike, my rule is NOT ridiculous. It's called having good MANNERS! I don't know how U can fail 2 C that. So, foax, what do U think Mike did first, save his manuscript or his kidz? We shall C. For the kidz' sake, I hope Dee thot fast, whether she's really Becky's cousin or not. (And I don't know Y believe what Becky sed abt this puts me on a naughty list. Geez, just do the friggin' DNA and get it over with.)

Apes

Dee, Merrie, and "Magic"

Well, I got e-mail again. Nope, it wasn't from Gramps this time. It was from Dee. Here's what she wrote:

'April'!

There are days when I have 'doubts' about myself, but then there are other 'times' when I'm just 'sure' I'm a great mother! Like the other night, for instance. 'Merrie' sat up in her bed and asked, "When is Santa coming, Mom?" I told her, "Soon." You know, I'm a little sad sometimes that Merrie, at age four, already calls me "Mom" instead of "Mama." But that's not what I'm writing to you 'about,' so never mind. Merrie 'said,' "We don't have a chimney. How will he get in?" I told her, "Magic!" I'm a 'genius' sometimes! Merrie asked, "What kind of magic?" I was 'ready' for this. I said, "It's a secret! Magic isn't magic if you know how it's done." Then I eased her back so she 'was' lying down, tucked her in, and said, "Why don't you lie down and imagine all the different ways Santa could come to our house." I 'put' my hand on her forehead and said, "Imagine.... Imagine.... Imagine...." And she quickly drifted off to 'sleep.'

Then, 'April,' your 'brother' crept into the room, and he asked, "How did you get her to go to sleep?" And I told him, "Magic!" Then he stared at Merrie for a little while and asked, "Why does my 'daughter' look almost exactly like April's slatternly schoolmate, Becky McGuire? Is there a teenage pregnancy in your past, from that time you lived away from Milborough?" And I told him, "Of course not, silly! I was 'pure' when we had our first wedding, 'remember'?" Then I flitted out of the bedroom to find some 'pharmacy' journals to 'read.'

Best,

Dee

Hm, y'know, I've sometimes wondered myself why Meredith looks like a mini-Becky. And now I understand why I got a call from Merrie in the wee hours of the morning, listing ways Santa could get into their apartment.

Apes

Whappa Bomp Boom-Whappa Foom-Foom Whakk-Fwam

Tho Liz an' I disagree a lot, sumtymez we decide it's fun 2 work 2gether an' mess with Mom a bit. We had prezzie wrapping 2 do, and in the Patterson house, U totally hafta do a st00pid pun on "wrap" and "rap." Plus, Mom has this weird idea that all the music us "yung ppl" listen 2 is nothing but "Whappa bomp! Whappa Bom! Whak-fwam! Whakk-fwam! Bomm wakka Boom Boomp-whappa, Foom-foom Boomp-whakka, Foom-foom boomp, bomp, boom, bomp foom-foom-whaka." Which is totally ridiculous, isn't it? but Liz went 2 a novelty store and found a CD called "What the cranky oldsters think the 'modern' music sounds like." And this CD actually does make those sounds, with an electronic drumbeat sound in the background. So Liz and I got all our gifts and our wrapping supplies and Liz started playing that CD. Liz an' I made a big show of dancing around, acting like we really luv this music that "the kids are in2 these days," IYKWIM. We knew Mom was reading in the living room, and that she'd totally hafta come in with her classic WTF look. So when she did, I went in for the stupid pun, cuz I knew Mom wdn't B able 2 say NEthing 2 a requisite Patterson pun. I sed "wrap music." C, typical dumb pun.

Well, gotta go. Dunc an' I R gonna jam 4 a while, then he has a d8 with Zandra.

Apes

Love an' Hope

After his little break from e-mailing me, Gramps wrote again:

April,

I feel inspired to write to you again, this time about our journey home from the doctor's office. When your step-Grandma Iris and I were stepping into the Handivan, we were in silhouette, but instead of being a uniform black tone, we had various grey tones so that we faded to nearly white at the feet. And the driver who was helping us was a silhouette of pure white. Freaky! And there were huge snow flakes in the air, bigger than our heads, and shaped like ellipses. Not this kind: .... But the kind that's like a circle you stepped on. And the pine trees were also in white silhouette. I was worried that I was seeing things this way because of my stroke, but when we got home and I typed out my concerns, Iris told me it wasn't the stroke, those oddities were real!

So once we were settled into the Handivan, and the van started hovering us home, Iris said, "You're recovering, Jim. A stroke isn't the end of the earth anymore." This was almost more alarming than reassuring, because people have been telling me all along that the stroke is not the end of the earth, and I tried to believe, but now I'm thinking they were just saying that to make me feel better. And what if she's doing it again now?!?!? Well, no matter. She continued, "We can do this, you and I. We can make you whole again. I believe that!.... Don't you?" And instead of saying "Yes" so she'd know she'd gotten through and that I agreed, I just thought, "Where there's love.... There's hope." I can't help it April. I know I can say "yes," "and," and "no," but I'm not a "yes and no" kind of guy! I need to explain things!

Well, the hands and brain are tiring again, so this is me wrapping up.

Love,

Gramps

Aw, Gramps, I don't think ppl were lying B4 when they sed it wasn't the end of the earth, I think Iris kinda chose her words poorly just then.

Apes

Dr. Foell Speaks, Sort Of

Did U know that Ontario Neurologists have a message board online? I didn't either, but sum1 tipped me off 2 OntarioNeuroSpace, and I found a posting from a BFoellNeuroMan:

Hello, Neuro friends! Remember the patient I was telling you about, the one that, for confidentiality reasons, I refer to as "Bim"? Well, at the end of that recent consult we had, I was briefing his wife, um, "Biris." I gave her the anti-depressant scrip and told her he can take it at bedtime. "Biris" said, "Another pill. He has so many now." Since she seemed a bit dazed, I asked her whether he takes them at the same time every day. As you know, this can be a problem, especially with our elderly patients, and moreso when they start to feel overwhelmed. "Biris" said, "Yes. Every day at the same time." When she said this, I couldn't help noticing that the "double" part of her double chin had suddenly gotten much larger, and she she seemed a little bit robotic. I asked her how she is "coping with all this," and she did a ::sniff:: kind of sound. I told her, "It's not easy being a caregiver. Are you OK? --Tell me. Honestly." And she asked, "Can you give me a prescription for some HUGS?" When she did, I felt my eyebrows fly up in my face, but what I was really reacting to, from a neurological standpoint, of course, was the fact that this poor dear, who was already no looker to begin with, seemed to have taken a thousand hits from the ugly stick at just that moment. And my whole brain and body went into defense mode against the possibility that "Biris" would go in for a hug from me. Thinking fast, I took a couple of steps back, grabbed that Rx pad, and wrote "HUGS" on a sheet. She took the page. Blinked. Then said, "Oh, you took what I said and acted on it literally. No wonder my husband likes you." Whatever that was all about, folks!

Huh, I didn't expect neurologists to be so gossipy, did U?

Apes

Yes and No

Well, here's the l8est Gramps e-mail, peeps:

April,

So I can say "Yes" and "No." I can even say "and." That's a relief. Iris was in the waiting area during that consultation I've been telling you about all week. After he was finished with that, he came out and told Iris, "You can come in now, Mrs. Richards." Iris said, "Thank you, doctor." Then she came into the office and the doc told her, "We're seeing significant progress in Jim's ability to use his hands, his legs are stronger and he still has his sense of humour!" Though I think that doc might have been from the states and saying "humor." Iris said, "But... He can't talk!" Doctor said, "We're working on that. He can say 'yes' and 'no'-- Which is a good start. And you can help by asking questions that require just a "Yes" or "No" answer." Iris said, "I'm already doing that, aren't I, Jim?" And I said, "Yes.... And.... No." See, I can say "Yes"! I can say "No"! And I can say "And"! But why didn't the doc stick to those "yes or no" questions? And why didn't I answer him when he asked if I was comfortable with my therapist and whether I had communication tools. Those questions take a yes or no. Oh, I remember, I wanted to say, "Well, sort of, except that," and then give a lengthy explanation, ending in a pun. I have to work on my "yes or no" answers.

Well, I'll probably write to you a couple more times before I lose interest in sending you so many e-mails.

Be well,

Gramps

Well, it's good to know Gramps can talk a little bit, still.

Apes

Rattly Gramps

As U mita guessed, I got e-mail from Gramps again. Don't tell Mom, she's still hoping that one day she'll learn 2 send an' receive e-mail "with ease". Like it's so difficult, eh? NEway, here's Gramps:

April!

I really like this e-mail stuff. And it's great for my brain-hand coordination. I guess at least in writing, I'm not like a politician. Har-dee-har, boy do I bring the funny!

So this young doc, who looks about five minutes older than you, April, told me: "You appear to be handling all of this very well, Jim. --But... How are you? I mean, really." Of course, I couldn't answer, what with my loss of "yes" and even "ta," so I just buried my head in my hands. I wish I'd taken mime while in the service, back when I had the chance. But no matter, the doc knew what I meant: "Yes. Depression is a major byproduct of any major loss like this." Then he stood up, picked up some papers, and suggested, "I can prescribe something to help deal with the depression." That's when I raised my brows and thought, "But Doc! --I'm already so full of pills-- I RATTLE!!!" April, I must tell you, the pressure I'm putting on myself to think these laugh lines is really starting to strain me. I guess those happy pills are a good idea. Well, I'll probably write to you again soon. Until then, big hugs from your Grandpa!

So there ya have it.

Apes

Gramps Jokes About Politics

Hey, I just got another e-mail from Gramps:

"April,

I think writing e-mails to you is good "therapy" for me. So I'll tell you a little more about this visit with the young doc. We were sitting at his desk, and oddly we were both sitting in front of it, with the desk pushed up to the wall, instead of the usual arrangement with a doctor, where the patient sits across the desk from him. But no matter. I gestured my hand toward my open mouth to indicate I want to talk. He told me, "I know. Aphasia is an extremely frustrating condition. We're hoping to bring back your ability to speak... But it will take time. Are you comfortable with your therapist? And you have language tools at home to help you communicate?" I just stared at him, of course, and he continued, "We have to retrain your mouth and your brain to work together again. Right now, they're..... Disconnected." That's when I thought a real zinger, April. How it kills me that people can't hear me when I think this stuff. I thought, "My mouth and my brain are disconnected.... I could have a career in politics!!!" See how brilliant?!?

But what I really don't understand is why, on Remembrance Day, I was able to say--actually SAY--"Yes" to Iris when she asked if I was sure I was up to going. Why was I able to get my mouth and brain coordinated for just that one moment, and then never again since? Have I had some major setback? Why has no one asked the doctors and therapists about this? Since I can't ask for myself? Maybe next time I should write this stuff out on the computer and then print it, eh? Or maybe I need to get that doc's e-mail address. I hear all the docs are on the e-mail these days.

Love,

Gramps

Man, gd questions, Gramps. MayB sum1 out there knows, eh?

Apes

Gramps Again

Apparently, Gramps has regained enuf movement in his hands 2 write me an e-mail:

April!

How is my favourite grandchild? I have some news for you, squirt! I went in for a check up with my doc, and As he was examining my legs and feet, he said, "You're doing well, Jim. If we hadn't been able to get that clot-busting drug into you when we did, we might not be seeing this kind of recovery." He had me walk around using my walker, and he told me, "Your balance is better, the physio is helping to get your legs working again.... And the movement you've regained in your hands is remarkable!" That's when I thought, "I'm speechless!" It's a shame no one can appreciate thought-puns, eh? But that's the whole point, I can't talk, so I'm speechless. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Wait, what am I laughing at? That's not funny, it's sad. It's depressing as heck! And by the way, could you tell your dad that stroke recovery is not a "lifestyle"? Sometimes I really wonder what my daughter sees in that choo-choo loving, toolkit-buying, calendar-girl leering moron!

Well, the movement in my hands is starting to give out, so I'd better wrap this one!

Love,

Gramps

Aw, I'm glad Gramps is doing better aren't U? But if I'm gonna B talking abt him all week? Heck, I was gonna say "brace yrselves" but it seems like I want U guyz 2 brace yrselves no matter what I'm telling U abt!

Speaking of which, sorry Dad gave U that pervvy toolkit, Becks. That was so wrong of him!

Apes

Dad shops

So, like I mentioned in one of my comments yesterday, my Dad went out 2 do sum Xmas shopping. U know how he's alwayz complaining abt doing this in his December letters, eh? So, he talked about going from one store 2 another @ the mall, where there were shelves of perfume w/names like "Channel," "Whiff of Lust," "Fume," "Eau de Bodice," and "Kumquat Spritz." The kitchen appliances has names list "Whiz Chopper," "Blendall" (with dual action), and "Easy Toast." He passed through sections with purses, gloves, scarves, and coats, hosiery, dresses, and accesories. He looked at bras, undies, and nightgowns while a redhaired woman with a big ol' updo raised her browz an' gave him the stinkeye. He wandered bast Audioshop and the bookstore and drifted in2 the Snax restaurant. While he was sipping coffee and feeling all sorry 4 himself, he overheard a woman talking with a friend of hers: "Know what I'd like for Xmas, Darlene? --A tool kit!!! Every1 gives me bath stuff or clothing, but a good tool kit is sumthing every woman can use!" Dad got a huge happy-face grin on his face and, as he paid 4 his coffee, he also paid 4 the lunch thoze 2 ladies ordered. As he was running out, he heard the waitress telling them, "I dunno Y, but the guy who just ran outta here paid 4 yr lunch."

OMG. It soundz like Dad was all happy cuz he luvs buying toolkits as gifts, and now he thinks women luv these things. Remember last December when he was on an' on about this in his dumb letter?

I just love these tool kits you can buy at the hardware stores these days. They have almost everything you need around the house, and they come in these very well organized plastic containers. If if you ask me what a great present is, personally, I think everyone should get these as gifts! I mean, they are not only useful, but they are conversation pieces at various social functions with other guys. With enough of these, they could have a serious toolkit collection, with each one marked as to what year it was made, with the model types, and get into documenting the changes that the kits had each year. Hmm, that makes me think about my tie collection. I should document who sent me which one, and have them marked as to the occasions that I have to wear them, in case the giver happens to be there, and I want to afford them the thrill of recognizing the tie they gave me.

Now that I think of it, the wives would have been the ones purchasing the ties, so it would be a great excuse to talk to all sorts of lovely ladies. Here, I guess you would not want to document the conversations. Just the year, who they came from, and how you felt about it when you opened the present. Yes, I can see it all now, inviting all sorts of people over to see your tie collection, joining the tie collectors club, going to tie collectors conventions in exotic places like Milwaukee, or Peduka, or Porcupine Ontario.

In comparison it makes tool kit collecting seem pretty exciting, AND they are useful. I mean what is a tie good for? Spilling soup on? If they were at least absorbent, you could wipe things up with them. I wonder why ties were originally invented?

Anyway, if I was to give everyone a toolkit for Christmas, year after year, it might solve this problem of gift wars. If you knew I was giving you a present this year, and you knew it was a tool kit, you might just write me a note and suggest that perhaps we NOT exchange gifts this year! It could even be in the form of a legal agreement so no one would be sued for not having given a gift.

Dad is so predictable! So, like, after he told me all this stuff abt his shopping trip? I was, like, "Dad! By NE chance did U run in2 NE1 I know and say or do sumthing embarrassing?" He looked kinda shifty and was like, "Oh, I'm l8 for my trains!" And he ran off. Gah, 2 those of U who mighta seen my Dad yesterday, I hope he wasn't 2 bad!

Apes

Gah, I'm a friggin' Patterson!

Liz decided 2 organize a family meeting. Mom, Dad, and Liz were sitting @ the kitchen table (which suddenly looked HUGE) having tea, and I had a can of pop. Liz was all, "I have organized this family mtg so that we can openly discuss sum serious concerns in regardz 2 our living arrangements. As U know, April and I are now sharing the upstairz... Which has resulted in a series of, let us say, misunderstandings... And a number of problems need 2 B ironed out." Dad was, like, "So, what wd U like from us? Discipline?!" Liz was all, "No! I want U 2 act as a sounding bd. Mom kinda leapt from her chair as Dad rose from his, and Mom sed, "Sorry. U 2 R both old enuf 2 work this out on yr own." Then after Mom and Dad had both left, Liz and I stood up, and I sed. Oh, God, I don't even want 2 tell U what I sed, cuz I PUNNED. Like a stinkin' Patterson. And I have a feeling that when I was punning, I also looked abt 12 yrs old. I've been looking really yung this wk, I wonder if this has sumthing 2 do with the "age freeze" that's supposta happen sumtyme next yr, @ least on my mom's web page. Oh, back 2 what I sed. I was, like, "Well, they did what U wanted, Liz.... They sounded bored." C, "sounding board" and "sounded bored." Gah, I h8 myself when I do that Patterson punning garbage. Yuck.

Howard, I'm sorry I spilled the beanz abt my Dad having hit on yr auntie, Winnie Kelpfroth, @ the grocery store. When U sed, "Don't tell NE1," U kinda winked @ me, so I thot U were joking abt the not telling. But now that I think of it, U were eating a grapefruit @ the time, so maybe U'd squirted yrself in the eye?

Apes

I'm not mature, but neither is Liz

So after I'd regained consciousness following Liz's pillow-thwack she gave me 4 eavesdropping, Liz came along all, "April, U cannot listen in on my personal fone callz!" And I was, like, "But yr door was open, Elizabeth! If U want so much privacy, U shd close the door!" And Liz was all, "And U shd have the courtesy 2 give me sum privacy, even if the door IS open!" Hmmm, this kinda remindz me of how Liz never managed 2 learn 2 close her drapes in Mtig, eh? NEway, I stuck out my tung an' did a "PFBLLTT!" Liz crossed her arms over her chest and sed, "Well, THAT was mature!" And I got in2 the same body position, and imitated her voice, but making one little change: "Well, THAT was manure!" And Liz squeezed her eyez shut and shouted, "DAD!!" in a way that it sounded like the word "Dad" was wiggling. And Dad yelled, "I'm off duty! Fix it yrself!"

NEhoodles, I know me having a tiff w/Liz isn't the most xxciting thing 2 tell U abt, but @ least it's not Mike's toilet or his lessons abt what goez in it, eh? Or poopy Ned.

Apes

My head hurts!

Well, sumtymez I do stuff that helps xxplain Y there R peeps who still think I'm twelve! Like Liz was sittin' on her bed, talking on the fone w/Paul, all "Hello, Paul? I've been trying 2 call U! What's happening w/yr transfer?" I was standing in the doorway listening 4 that part, and then I crept in2 the room and sprawled on the bed, behind and 2 the rite of Liz, lying on my belly and using my forearms and hands to prop my hed. Liz was gripping one corner of her pillow w/her left hand, which shda been a warning 2 me that the ultra-violence mite B on its way if I did sumthing Liz didn't like. But I was 2 drawn in 2 eavesdropping 2 think str8. Liz went, "Really? January?!! Can U come here 4 Xmas?... Then... I'll C U B4 New Yr's" Then she was all, "I luv U. Kisses and hugz. Uh-huh, more kisses (giggle) more hugz ... and more kisses..." Just then, I put my face rite behind Liz's head and went, "Smoochy-smoochy!" Liz gave me a big WHAP! 2 the had w/that pillow she'd been gripping, making me rise 1/2way in2 the air, and then knocking me on2 my back, so's I lost consciousness. Liz sez I was lying there like a ded bug, with my feet in the air, when she continued her convo w/"And more hugz."

She posted a bit about all this in a comment here last nite:

April,

I shouldn't even talk to you, you're such a nosy brat, but since the world will want to know about what I'm doing, I have to put a post on your stupid blog, well, Paul is finally going to be the man in my life who is there for me, only now he is going to be here for me, because he is finally getting his transfer, it only took me months of nagging him, but it's finally happening, I'm so excited, I just know that Paul getting his transfer is going to lead me on the path to marriage, finally, I just know this event is going to cause me to finally get a husband somehow.

Well I decided there's no way I'm going up north to Mtigwaki for Christmas or New Year's, it is a horrible fate to be deprived of a Milborough New Year's Eve party, even though the one last year wasn't so great the ones from the years before that were fantastic, you always see all the most wonderful dearest people to you in the whole world and just that one night a year so missing it is a bad thing, besides, now that Paul is going to be living in the South I won't be needing to go up North anymore hardly ever, which is good because that long drive is really a big pain in the butt, that's what Mom says, but I'm not sure if she means in the real butt or the butt that isn't real but just means you hate doing something, anyway, Mom is always right.

You know after I hung up with Paul Mom and I had a big talk and she said she was so proud of me because I learned one of her biggest lessons of womanhood which is that whatever the woman wants is right, and she just says how she wants people to act and then her husband and kids (or boyfriend) has to do it, like when Mom made us go vegetarian awhile back, she said, "You did it! You told your boyfriend that he was going to move to Milborough with you, and he is doing it!" and I was so happy but also confused and I said, "But I thought you hated Paul and want me to break up with him for Anthony," and Mom said, "Oh, I'm not worried. When I went vegetarian, one screw up by your father was enough to make me realize I didn't really care about healthy eating anymore. Paul will get here and mess up somehow, like the imperfect non-Milborough, non-husband material he is. Then you will change your mind about him and realize you are meant to be with Anthony. Believe me, a mother knows. It will all unfold as I say," and I said, "But Mom, what if I don't do what you want?" and Mom said, "It's not about what I want, it's about what fate has decreed. Fate wants you with Anthony. You'll accept that someday. But your work with Paul is good practice for you. By the time you marry Anthony, you will have wifely control down pat," then Mom patted me on the head and left.

Well later I heard Mom in the sewing room and I smelled popcorn and I wanted some so I went to go in there but I stopped in the door because I saw Mom had a little doll in her hands, the doll was in a Mountie uniform and he had all these pins and things coming out of him, stuck in his chest and his naughty boy place, and I said, "Mom, what's up with the doll?" and Mom said, "I'm making a present for your nephew," and so I said, "You really put the grand in grandma," and then I went to see if you had woken up from your coma yet.

Liz

Yeow, my head still hurts. Sorry I spied, Liz, but I think U overreacted. Oh, and I think we shd get that little mountie doll away fr. Mom. Soundz like voodoo. If she's gonna play that way, I'm making an Anthony doll in the home-ec room @ school! That'll show her!!!

Apes

Mike gives Merrie an Eating Disorder?

Gah, we're still on abt Mike, Ned, and toilets this week. And it's only Wednesday. Bleah. NEway, I got a Dee-mail:

'April'! That 'brother' of yours! He came into the 'apartment,' taking off his 'coat' and saying, "I gave Mrs. Saltzman a cheque to cover the repairs to the plumbing... And, I'll pay for the Kelpfroths' bathroom wall." My, he sure is 'formal' about 'Mrs. Saltzman' when he's giving her money! Then he took 'Robin' into the washroom, showed him the 'toilet,' and said, "Robin, this is not a toy, OK? Never, never put anything in it that's not supposed to be there--understand?" You know, 'April,' it seems to me we should have reviewed this with the 'childen' long before now. And maybe invested in some toilet-cover locks. Then I heard your 'brother' saying, "Put it this way: nothing goes in there that hasn't been eaten first." Oh, 'my,' April! I wish he'd said, "Just pee and poo," like a normal 'parent' would. Because poor 'Meredith'! First she got this wide-eyed look on her face when she heard what 'Michael' was saying about "eaten first." And for a second there, I swear I wondered who had replaced my four-year-old little 'girl' with your big 'sister' Elizabeth! It was as if Merrie had been drawn by someone who can't remember 'what' she looks like! Merrie was sitting at the kitchen table, and she'd only been picking at her 'food.' I told her, "Meredith, finish your hot dog." And she said, "...I'm thinking." Poor girl, I don't think she'd ever made the connection between eating, digestion, and what goes into the potty before just then. And now I think she 'might' have developed a complex about 'this,' April! Dang Michael!

Best,

Dee

Man, Michael! No brainer! Do you really expect your two-year-old to know what you mean? As far as he's concerned, he doesn't eat pee and poo, it comes out of his nethers, U foob!

Apes

The Bill 4 Ned

It's been a while since Lovey Saltzman, Mike's landlady, has posted here, but I guess she still lurks and she's just sent me an e-mail:

April Patterson! Your meshuggah brother, he makes my Aqua Net sprayed hair hurt! After that conversation he had with Josef Weeder, the one you wrote about yesterday, I came out into to hallway. That schmendrik Michael, he had little Merrie with him still, even though the middle of the night it was! I put my arms across my chest and asked, "And... What is Ned?" That meschuge Michael told me, "Oh... Just a little plastic guy Weed an' I had when we were in school. He hung on our apartment window. He was our mascot, our anti-hero, our futility symbol." That brother of yours April, such love he had in his eyes when he spoke these words. Never have I seen such adoration from him, not when he speaks of his wife, not when he tells me of those precious babies of his. Just this Ned. Next, he was telling me, "When we moved, we argued over who would get him. He's sort of gone back and forth since then. It's kind of stupid, really. He's not worth anything." This was when I noticed the little one, Meredith, was holding a large puffball, and I hoped it was not a dust bunny she had found in foyer. But before I had any chance to say this, the plumber said, "Mrs. Saltzman? Your bill for getting 'Ned' out of the plumbing system, comes to $432.86."

Like I need this, April Patterson! This is more than it cost me to fix the plaster those flenkschtigel Kelpfroths knocked down with their banging. Your brother and his little family, I love them! But I don't need this. I'm old!

Lovey

Uh-oh, Blogger is now telling me "Saving and publishing may fail." Like I need that.

Apes